


Nobody goes to Cokeworth on holiday

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cokeworth, HP AU, Tumblr Prompt, not quite canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: Summer 1991.  Evading Harry's Hogwarts letters causes the Dursley family to flee to Petunia's childhood town of Cokeworth.But Petunia isn't the only person who calls Cokeworth home.  And that dark mysterious man is floored when he spies a face he's not seen in 20 years:  an 11 year old James Potter.





	Nobody goes to Cokeworth on holiday

**Author's Note:**

> From an anonymous Tumblr prompt: Could you write a fic where it's Snape who meets when the Dursleys are staying in Cokeworth?

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…

* * *

_Like shootin’ fish in a barrel, son!_

His father’s words rang in his head as he strolled from the pub.  He hadn’t intended to fleece the group.  Not like when he was younger, and was cajoled by his desperate father. This time, mired in guilt, he threw the last few hands, and pretended his winning streak was over.  

The men commiserated his loss with good humour and camaraderie, but Severus didn’t need to use Legilimency to read their relief.  There had been at least a fortnight’s wage on the table, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that any of the men were still working.  Gambling was no laughing matter in a backwater pub in Cokeworth.

And him, a well-paid teacher.  He could afford to lose ten times over.  He should’ve known better.  

But old habits die hard, and he could almost hear his father’s greed hollering in his ear.  He never threw a hand back then, not when losing a hand could mean the household starving for the rest of the week.  He still couldn’t eat stew as an adult, no matter how upmarket the offering was.  Gourmet stew, indeed.  He could almost feel the oily, watery broth that had coated his fingers as he scooped a bowl from the cauldron; by the end of the week, there were no chunks of meat to be found, and little more than vegetable peel for flavour.

No.  He never threw a hand back then.

It was only the time his father had seen any worth in magic.   _Comin’ down for a pint, eh, son? I’ll stand yer one._ And then he’d lower his voice to a whisper so Eileen wouldn’t hear.   _And bring that witchy mind readin’ brain of yers with yer.  Don’t think yer just goin’ to sit quiet in the corner with a bleedin’ book._

He kicked angrily at a stone on the pavement.  “Why d’yer do this to yerself, Sev lad?” he muttered.  His accent was stronger in these streets.  He shouldn’t have had that last pint.  He always got maudlin after one too many.  He always got maudlin in Cokeworth.

He turned a corner, and followed the main street out of town.  Spinner’s End was in the other direction, far from the train station, far from civilisation – but Severus always walked to the outskirts, and then Apparated to his house.  He preferred to arrive directly in his bedroom when he’d had a few pints; he could collapse straight into bed, and it saved exchanging trivialities with the neighbours.  It took all of his effort to remain polite during the day – with a few Muggle pints in his system, Severus wasn’t quite sure of what he might say.

He glanced up.  The stars weren’t visible – too much light pollution.  Too much pollution full stop.  

And then he saw him. Four storeys up, his face pressed against the glass of a dirty window.

James fucking Potter.

Severus stopped, and turned. His spin was rather less impressive without his voluminous teaching robes, but despite his alcohol intake, the movement was smooth.  He took several steps back and peered at the window, where a small boy with glasses, and messy black hair was peering right back at him.

He wasn’t going mad.

It wasn’t _James_ Potter.

Not with that distinctive scar.

Severus’ heart thudded in his chest.  He stared at the boy for a long moment, and eventually, timidly, the boy raised his hand in the slightest of waves.  

After a few seconds, Severus nodded, and continued on his way.

Harry silently watched as the thin man with long, straight hair hurried down the street.  He glanced back over at Dudley, who was still snoring loudly, and sighed.

* * *

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

* * *

“I thought he lived in Surrey,” Severus shouted, banging the door as he strode in, incongruously dressed in his Muggle attire.

“All right, Severus,” Minerva said, sharply.  “I’ve heard quite enough.”  She opened the log of which letters had been sent to which student, and her jaw dropped as she flicked to Harry Potter’s record.

Most children had a single entry next to their name:   _Draco Malfoy – letter sent by OWL, response received._

Harry James Potter didn’t have just one entry.  He had thirty nine pages.  

Severus stood behind Minerva, and peered at the pages with her.  “Don’t you check these?”

“At the weekend.  It gives families chance to send confirmation,” she said, defensively.  “There’s usually no need to chase anyone up.  These are all pureblood and halfblood families, Severus, remember?”

“Halfblood he might be,” Severus harrumphed, “but he lives with Muggles.”

“Muggles who know fully well what he is,” Minerva corrected.  “Dumbledore did suggest he’d send Hagrid to retrieve him if there was any trouble,” she added, but Severus wasn’t really listening.

“The address keeps changing,” he said, pointing at the page.  “What does this mean?  Cupboard under the stairs?  The smallest bedroom?”

Minerva gave him a horrified look.  “The addresses are automatic.”

“Hundreds of these,” Severus said, flipping the pages.  “And now, look!  Tomorrow’s entry – Railview Hotel, Cokeworth!  That’s where I saw him.”

“Perhaps they went on holiday?”

“To Cokeworth?” Severus snorted.  “Nobody goes to Cokeworth on holiday.”

“You were there.  This is your holiday.”

Severus gave her a scathing look.  “I had the misfortune of being born there.”  He tensed. “They’re running from it.  They think they can outrun the owls.”

“Whatever for?” Minerva polished her glasses on her sleeve.  “You don’t seriously think those awful Muggles would keep Harry from attending Hogwarts?”

When she put her glasses back on, he’d gone.

* * *

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

“’Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an ’undred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

_Mr. H. Potter_  
_Room 17_  
_Railview Hotel_  
_Cokeworth_

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

* * *

Vernon’s heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway, and Severus slipped in through the door.  He’d sat in Vernon’s place before anyone even realised he’d entered the room.

“Mornin’,” he said, cheerfully, and picked up Vernon’s half-finished cup of tea.

Petunia was so horrified, she couldn’t speak.  Her mouth kept forming the same strange ‘o’ shape.  Dudley clouted her on the back, assuming she was choking on a cornflake.

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re the man I saw last night,” he said.

“I am,” he said, leaning his head down to Harry.  “And I have a very special letter for you.”

“Oh!” Petunia finally spoke, and Severus straightened up.

“Where’s my letter?” demanded Dudley.

“You don’t want one of those horrid letters,” Petunia snapped.  “And neither does he, Snape!”

Harry didn’t think it was possible to be more shocked.  “You know this man, Aunt Petunia?”

“Off to your room, Harry,” Severus said sternly, passing him an envelope.

“You know my name!”

“-and keep that letter safe.”

Harry gave a sharp nod, and fled to his hotel room.  Dudley moved to go with him, but Severus’ slender hand gripped his upper arm.  He dropped his Cokeworth accent, and slipped back into his most impressive schoolmaster tone.  “And where do you think you’re going?”

Dudley swallowed hard. Ordinarily, he’d scream and shout, and stamp his feet – but the man’s black eyes were unnerving.  He slid back onto his seat.

“Not my son, Snape,” Petunia whispered, horrified.  “You can take the other one, but please, not my Duddy.”

“Nobody wants your Duddy,” Severus sneered.

“Fine,” she snapped.  “You’ve-”

“Obliviate.  Stupefy.  Muffliato.”

Petunia’s scream was high pitched, and she lunged for the thin man.  “What have you done to him?  My Duddikins! Duddy!”  She looked around helplessly, amazed that nobody else had moved an inch. “What have you done?”

“No-one can hear you,” Severus said, in an almost bored tone.  “I merely wiped the boy’s memory of events.  He will wake shortly, and he won’t have any knowledge of this meeting.”

Petunia calmed, and sniffed. “And Harry?”

“I think it best that both you and Harry remember what happened here.”  He flicked his wand, lifting the Muffliato spell.  “Send Dudley up to pack in five minutes.  It’ll give you time to decide what to tell that oaf of a husband of yours.”

* * *

Severus rapped on the door. “Harry?”

The door slid open, and Harry beamed at him.  “Is this true?  Is this all true?  I’m a wizard? Are you a wizard?”

Severus nodded, and ushered the boy through the door.

“Do you work at the school?” Harry asked, excitedly.  “Can we go now?”

“We cannot go now,” Severus intoned, “for Hogwarts has broken up for the summer.  But yes, I work at the school.”

“What do you do?”

“I teach Potions.”  At Harry’s puzzled look, he smiled.  “It’s like Chemistry.  Only magical.”

“Are there forms?”

“Forms?”

“I went to the open day at Stonewall High,” Harry explained.  “And they put you in a form.  Mine was-”

“We call them houses,” Severus interrupted.

“Yes, that’s it!” Harry looked cheered, and then turned back to the letter.  “It doesn’t say which house I am going to be in?”

“Nobody knows until you turn up.”

“Oh.”  Harry thought for a moment.  “What’s your house?”

Severus smiled.  “I was put into Slytherin.”  He smiled more broadly again.  “I am very proud to say that I am the Head of Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?  That’s a funny name.”

Severus gave a tight smile. “Isn’t it just?”  He patted the small boy on the shoulder.  “Enough now, Harry.  You need to pack your things before your cousin comes upstairs.”

“But-”

“It won’t be long until you’re at Hogwarts,” he said.  “For now, just keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Sir?  Do you think I could be in Slytherin?”

Severus paused for a long moment, and then shut the door.  He pulled out his wand and spun on his heel.  “Obliviate!  Stupefy!”

He picked the stunned boy up, shocked at how light the limp child was.  He gently rested him on the bed and sighed.  “Your mother was in Gryffindor.”

With that, he slipped out of the building.

* * *

And Harry pulled his head out of the pensieve.


End file.
